Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Just A Few Thoughts

I know the blog has been dark for a while.  Life has been, well, life.  I've been busy.  I have a lot to tell you but the timing just hasn't worked out.

I am so tired right now but I really needed to sit down and write some things down.  Perhaps it is my equivalent of therapy.  Or maybe this has just been the kind of week where everyone needs their voice to be heard.

I feel the need to make a list.

1.  I put up a post on facebook asking for more attention to mental illness in our country.  It is at best ignored and at worst treated as a joke.  My case in point is Charlie Sheen.  The man had an extremely public mental breakdown. It was prime fodder for late night talk shows.  If he had cancer, people would have reacted very very differently to his illness.

Many mental health advocates have spoken out about the criminalization of mental illness.  I feel like they don't understand that most of us who are raising this issue are actually on their side.  If we don't ignore it or joke about it perhaps we can actually help the people who are suffering from it.  Many get treatment but many many more go untreated.  And, much like people who are untreated for the flu or un-vaccinated for measles, there are public health consequences.

2.  You can believe whatever you want to believe but I do not--and will never--believe in a vengeful God.  People like Mike Huckabee are basically saying that God is saying "Fuck You" to humanity.  I don't know what or who God is.  I don't possess the necessary hubris to demand that my God is better than your God or that God loves me best.  But I do, quite deeply and profoundly, believe that there are things in the world that are unexplained and God is one of those.  And I believe that whatever or whoever is greater than I am would much prefer that I choose kindness and goodness rather than hatred and isolation.  If you are a letter of the law biblical believer I will respect your right to be that person.  I am not.  But the bible has led me to believe, via the concept of deadly sins, that God is not proud.

3.  Please please please keep your grief in context.  I am very sad for the families who have suffered this week.  In the spirit of bearing witness, I read the names of all those poor little children as soon as they were published.  I read every syllable slowly, with respect.  And I wept.  But I wept for the fear I feel right now.  I wept because my inability to conceive of this kind of pain is uncomfortable for me.

But know this and know it well.  Every single person who has not been directly affected by this tragecy should be weeping for the fact that we are so very lucky.

So please don't ask for my compassion right now if you are crying over the news.  I am too.  And for heavens sake don't show up in their neighborhood or at their funerals if you don't belong there.  You will be taking a parking space from someone who has lost a family member or friend.  And those people should not have to walk one extra step because you needed to get in their way.

4.  I'm going to do the multiple please thing again.  Please please please please please start compromising.  I sent a letter to the NRA today offering to compromise with them.  I asked my Congresswoman to be a voice for compromise in our government.   For heavens sake, we've heard more than enough about the second ammendment this week.  Let's please please please talk about the first amendment and exercise our right to freedom of speech and talk about this, work things out and find a common ground.  Whenever I have a conflict at work, I tell my employees that it is highly unlikely that anyone will get their own way but it is also highly likely that everyone will end up happy enough.  Can't we work on that on a bigger level?



Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Step Right Up

Mitt Romney is a carny.

Now before anyone wants to jump down my throat and argue across party lines or tell me I don't know what I am talking about, let me give you some information.  I am the daughter of a carny so I know one when I see one.  This has nothing to do with gender, age, race or political alliance.  It has to do with the fact that the man could have a brilliant career on the side show circuit.

See here's what any good carny will tell you is the key to a successful pitch--a good bally and then distract the marks!  Yes sir, yes sir, step right up and see the giant!  Nine feet ten inches tall (never mind that the guy is six foot six).  Then they'll be pointing out the fine quality stuffed bears on the top shelf that you could win--yessiree!--with their right hand while they are setting the rig on the game with their left foot.   Engage the mark with enthusiasm and promises and then distract them so you can set them up and send them home with empty pockets.

And here's what Mitt Romney did.

In the first debate he went after PBS.  And then for good measure threw in Big Bird.  It's a brilliant bally!  Take something that you know the liberals will flip their wigs over (public television) and throw in an icon.  Now watch the marks tripping over themselves to get onto facebook and kvetch about it.

The reality of this is that the federal government is not a major source of funding for PBS.  It is however, a major source for Corporation for Public Broadcasting.  Well, major for them.  In terms of annual federal spending the amount they get is a blip.  And Big Bird doesn't work for either of them.  He works for Sesame Street.  Granted they are all connected but please don't suggest to me that if public broadcasting disappeared tomorrow, that Nickelodeon wouldn't jump on the chance to syndicate Sesame Street.  And they would make a boat load of money on it.

The internet was on fire!!!!  No one was talking about any of the issues.  No siree Bob!  It was all about Big Bird.  No conversations on the monetary value of pre-school preparatory education that shows like Sesame Street provide.  How many children, I wonder, have started school already knowing their numbers, their letters and having a good running start on learning how to read because of Sesame Street.  An analysis of the actual value of federal dollars spent is the real point.  Big Bird is a puppet--he'll be fine.

Distraction at its finest.

And last night's show was even better.  Distract distract distract!  "I have binders full of women" is the debate equivalent of "Come see the living headless body!"  It's a mirror trick.  There is no such thing as a living headless body.  And so far, there is no such thing as any significant female presence in the Romney campaign or cabinet planning.  It's a trick.  A sleight of hand.  And it's all anyone can talk about today.  Truth be told, I'm having a really hard time stopping myself from making binder jokes.  It's really fun!

Here's the part where this gets political.  I blame the Republican Party for building this midway.  In 2008, the Palin family was trotted out like the Tiny Tim and Miss Vicky of the election. At the time, I believed that the Palin's were there so the party could have a scapegoat when they lost.  But it turned out, the Palins fired the country up.  The result--an even larger gap between the Democrats and the Republicans.  The rhetoric of the past four years has been outstanding.  From the birthers to the Tea Party and everything in between the lack of focus on real issues and real accountability has been profound.  And the party seems to have decided that "Step Right Up" is the new campaign slogan.  And this year we are getting an even bigger and better show.

Our current administration did not start the bailouts but I have lost count of the number of times that President Obama has been blamed for them.  The wars were already going full force.  The economy was already in the crapper.  I could go on but I won't.  

What we got from the Republican Party was a series of sideshows.   So often information was either misleading (the famous man eating chicken gag) or patently false (the girl into a gorilla gag).  And Governor Romney, who claims to be an intelligent man, allowed himself to become the pitch man for this hot mess.

Which is the main reason why I don't like him.  He believes that we are all willing marks who will fall for any trick or gag that they come up with.  It's insulting, it's dangerous and it reeks of hubris.

I am proud to be categorized as a liberal based on my values and my beliefs (actually, my uncle called me a screaming pinko liberal when I was in seventh grade but that's a story for another day).  A huge part of my value system is respect for other people's opinions, values and beliefs unless I find them illegal, hateful or immoral.  For most conservatives, that is not the case.  They are simply good people who see the world differently than I do.  And I am fine with that.  I like living in a country where we are all allowed to be different and to share our differences. 

As proud as I am of being a liberal, I am equally proud of the people who share my values of acceptance, mutual intelligence, discourse and tolerance regardless of their politics.  I wish our political system would do the same.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Dodge Ball

I have always hated the game dodge ball.  As a matter of fact, I used to do my best to get myself intentionally knocked out of play early on in the game so I wouldn't have to deal with it at all.  I can state with extreme confidence that I suck at any kind of sport (except volley ball which I am oddly and freakishly good at) but I can't think of another sport that I actively loathe as much as dodge ball. 

Actually, I think that more specifically, I am bad at any sport that involves catching a ball.  For whatever reason, I always shy away from it and end up getting slammed with the ball.  Taking into consideration the fact that the entire point of dodge ball is to slam your opponent with the ball, it was really a double whammy for me during those torturous years when I was forced to play.   Those fabulous Catholic school gym uniforms were long enough to be totally uncool yet short enough to leave a good long stretch of bare, naked, white thigh just begging to be slammed into with a red rubber ball.  And everyone knows there is nothing prettier than having that star pattern from the ball burned into your tender young flesh. 

Right now I have a motherless whore of a cold that I am calling the Great Dodge Ball Cold of 2012.  Because I didn't catch it.  It was thrown at me and slammed me a good one.   Much like that one kid in the class who was really good at dodge ball, I've been dancing around happily while those around me have been dropping like flies.  The hubris!  Yesterday I got dropped by a big red star patterned rubber ball of a germ and I am paying the price.

So I've made a few new rules that we will all have to live by (you all do live by my rules already don't you?).

1.  I don't care how much you love him.  You have to pay attention and remember not to kiss the man with the cold.  At least don't kiss him on the lips. 

2.  If you feel too crappy to get up and find that lace shawl you are knitting do not even consider pushing yourself to do it.  You will screw up and you may cry.  And let's be honest here.  You already look awful.  Crying is not going to help.  Opt for a plain sock.  You should always have one of those within arms reach anyway and if you fall asleep halfway through a row it won't matter.

3.  Do not--under any circumstances--let go of the black car key on the black clicker in a purse with a black lining that is filled with black yarn.   You might as well just lay down on the ground right where you are because you are not going to find that key any time soon.

4.  A hot toddy really will make you feel better.

5.  Two hot toddies will put you right to sleep.

6.  WARNING WARNING WARNING Three hot toddies will make you feel even worse. 

I'm going to lay on the couch until I feel better. Which right now feels like that may be never.  But at least I don't groan like someone else who is on the couch right now.  I have the courtesy to suffer in silence.

Monday, September 17, 2012

Cluster F&%k

I'm working on a really pretty piece of knitting.  The pattern is amazing, the yarn is beyond gorgeous and I am having such fun just tootling along on it.

Until row 58.

Suffice it to say that row 58 can suck it.  Big time.  In the very middle of the row the instructions say this:

Purl 7 together leaving them on the needle.
Yarn over and then purl the same 7 together again.
Repeat this 3 times.

Do you have any idea how effing hard that is!!!!!!!!!!

Earlier I had emailed the designer to ask her if the cluster was part of the engineering of the lace pattern or if it was there just to be pretty.   It was really a curiosity--not my inner child screaming please don't make me do this!!   She very kindly answered quickly that it was just for show and I could skip it if I wanted to.  Please note that I say she said it "kindly".  Not sarcastically or smarmily.

My answer to that was "oh yeah--IT'S BEEN BROUGHT".  There was no way I wasn't doing the stupid cluster now.

At this time, I would like to share with you the email that I sent to the group for this project::

So I tried the cluster. And then I tried it again. And again. And again. I was starting to feel like Liz Taylor going back to Richard Burton even though I knew it wasn't going to work but I kept on trying.

Then I got a really small needle and a really small crochet hook and I actually succeeded in creating a cluster. And it was so tight the yarn was actually screaming! Tight like my Aunt Geraldine at an afternoon wedding. Tight like Jordache jeans in 1983. Tight like Richard Burton that last time he married Liz.

So I ripped it out. And I swore. The nicest thing I said was "motherless whore". I won't get into where it went from there because it's pretty embarrassing. Brian actually took the knitting away from me and sent me to bed with a glass of wine and a cheap mystery novel.

I avoided my knitting this morning. I actually vacuumed instead of knitting. I went to work and pretended that it wasn't sitting at home mocking me. By the way, at this point I would like to thank all of you who posted pictures of your gorgeously and perfectly executed clusters. I have now forgiven all of you for your fabulous talents but last night I was googling all of you and planning out a road trip that involved a serious set of double point needles and a producer from "48 Hours". I had murder on my mind and fire in my eyes and not a single one of you were safe.

Until I realized that I could totally reverse engineer the whole thing. I got a darning needle and Brian's big yellow work light and did the whole cluster backwards and it worked like a charm. Took a minute to get my groove on while I was doing it and I had to apologize for barking at Brian "can you please shut up because I think it's really obvious that I am purling 7 stitches together backwards to make this cluster stitch and I can't do it if you keep talking to me and by the way talking with your hands right in front of the huge bright light that I brought over to help me with this is also really not helping because the fact that you can make a shadow puppet of a bunny rabbit talking to a chicken does not help me get all these stitches to do what I want to without calling them a motherless whore yet again".

Yeah--it was that kind of fun.  And I had to do the little bastard again on row 78.

Which actually worked out just fine because I used my totally cock-a-mamie backwards method and I loved it.

First I put the 7 stitches on a smaller double point.

Yes my double point is a little bit bent.  I occasionally have the claw of death when I'm trying to fiddle with something and I have no problem forcing my will on my needles.

Then take the working yarn and thread a loop through the eye of a blunt darning needle.

Instead of bringing the working knitting needle to the yarn, I brought the yarn to the working needle.  Slide the darner along the stitches on the double point and place the loop onto your working needle.  Yarn over and do it again and SHAZAAM!!!  before you know it you have a pretty little cluster.

P.S.  I know my photos suck but the light wasn't good and it been sitting around waiting to be photographed for so long that I finally just sucked it up and did the best my little camera could do.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012


I woke up this morning thinking of this poem.  It's my favorite poem because it speaks so beautifully of loss.  And yet, it makes me always covet, rather than mourn, the things that are gone.  And it always makes me remember the things that others are still experiencing that have become a part of my past. I find a deep and profound beauty in seeing someone experience magic while knowing that eventually it will become mundane.

So today, I decided that I just wanted normal back.   Whatever that means.  I was going to reclaim my past.

This is my normal.

We get up very early in the morning.  Actually, I should rephrase that--I get up very early in the morning.  And then I spend a half an hour waking my sweetie up.  And he bitches about it.  And that's just fine because it's our normal morning.

We stop at the corner store and he runs in and gets a bagel or a sandwich or a roll.  It doesn't really matter.  Suddenly the car smells like coffee and the man in the seat next to me gives me bites while I drive.

Driving at dawn here in the Y.O. will take your breath away.  You come over the tops of really high hills only to be greeted by the most amazing dawn light that you've ever seen.  This time of year it is golden (it will turn bluer and bluer until we reach the deepest of winter) and it takes my breathe away. 

We shoot down the east side of Manhattan.  I have the alarms on my phone set to make sure that we are on time.  From 106th Street to the job site is (at the most) 12 minutes.  I do that math.  I count the minutes to make sure we are on time. 

Around 6:20 the phone starts to ring and I start calling people into work. Brian helps. He answers the phone and he calls people back and he is just terrific. 

Just past 15th Street there is a hill in the right lane and if you hit it just right and you go fast enough it's like a roller coaster.  I hit it just right and give a very quiet "woo hoo".  Brian always laughs a little bit at me when I do it but I think he likes it.

I drop him off at the job and I always check to be sure that the two grey haired guys (turns out they are ceiling guys) are still standing outside drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.  If they are there, then we are on time.  This morning, the younger one had gotten a hair cut.

And then I turn around and go home.

The sun is always blinding by now and the traffic gets thicker and thicker but it's all on the other side of the FDR so I breeze up the river.  I try to ride in the right line so it feels a little bit like I'm in a boat.

Over the Willis Avenue Bridge and there is this stunningly beautiful billboard.  In all shades of orange it says "GRATITUDE". 
 And I started crying.

I didn't cry a lot.  I got home and did my little bits of housework and took a shower and left for work.  I had the car radio on and was listening to the news and the children's choir start singing the national anthem and I lost it.

I'm a sucker for the national anthem (actually--any national anthem--it doesn't have to be ours) on a good day.  But, man, if you give me children singing like angels on September 11th you might as well just kick me in the shins.  I was weeping.

I tidied up, got to work, and did my morning check.  And the Yarn Harlot had this.    Scroll down to the entry about the wedding flash mob.  Remember John? The guy who died?  He loved a flash mob.  So I lost it again. 

My day that was supposed to be about normal had beaten me down and become all about loss and grief.  Turns out that I don't actually have as much control as I think I have. 

I always really hate a column or blog post that ends with some sort of pithy phrase so please accept my apologies now.

I'm still trying that figure out what the gratitude sign wanted me to do.  I think I know but I do wish that it given me more specific instructions.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

I Can't Believe It's Not aFull Moon

Because I'm usually only this annoyed when the moon is full.

So in the spirit of community and sharing, let me tell you some of the things that pissed me off today:

1.  The Tree that Dripped Sap on My Windshield.  Okay tree, let's talk.  You dripped sap on my windshield.  You bitch!  You knew what you were doing.  You knew it wouldn't come off.  You knew that as soon as it started to rain on the FDR Drive at 5 am it would turn into superglue and I wouldn't be able to see a damn thing.  You better be on the lookout for me tree because I'm really seriously thinking about chopping you down.  Watch your back tree because, yeah, I'm looking at you.

2.  Pretending that it's only the Republicans who treat women like shit and act like we're stupid.  Umm, okay Bic, did you really think that marketing a ball point pen for women was a good idea.  Unless it doubles as a tampon or comes with three speeds, it's just a pen.   A pen.  Really?  For women?  Good God, I don't even know where to go with this.  And can someone explain to me why the Cinnamon Toast Crunch commercial starts with the phrase "okay ladies".  It's cartoon cinnamon squares eating each other in a bowl of milk.  What the fuck does that have to with women.  And these aren't even the overt sexist things that happen every day.  Women--can we please stand up and say enough!!!!! Don't act surprised when your rights are taken away when you give them up in a thousand tiny ways every day.  (You can thank me later for stopping now and keeping this relatively clean because I can go off on this shit for days.)

3.   Note to everyone in the world--I couldn't find my shoes is not an excuse for being 2 1/2 hours late for work.  Ever.  And if you really really can't find your shoes, you might want to think about calling.  Just sayin'. 

4.  Rick Santorum.  Dude just irks the living shit out of me.  The tree from number 1 has a Rick Santorum face on it.  And a sweater vest.

5.  Don't touch my knitting with chocolate on your fingers.  EVER!!!!!!

6.  Having to put ice in my wine because SOMEONE (okay me) forgot to put it in the fridge.  If I wanted water in my wine I would just go to church.

7.  If you can't loosen up enough to accept the fact that the movie Ted is really funny, you should probably go find a retreat house somewhere and spend some time meditating on the fact that you really need to lighten up.  I've done it and it's the only thing that stopped me from saying "lighten the fuck up" instead of just "lighten up".  Ohm.

8.  I'm am absolutely rip shit pissed at the barometic pressure and the goddamned butterfly that flapped its wings in China and is now causing another hurricane to slam head on into New Orleans.  These poor people have really had enough and, honestly, I really should have started this post out with number 8 because, when you think about it, I really have nothing to complain about.

9.  Rick Santorum again.  I know, I know, I shouldn't complain but man, he irks me.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Are You There Todd Akin, It's Me Margaret

Dear Todd Akin,

I am so happy that someone finally acknowledged that we girls have magical powers.  Honestly, we've been trying to convince you fellas of this for generations!!!  Since you're on that science committee and all, now we  know it's true.  Girls are magic and boys are not.  Ha!

About that science thing.  I'm trying to figure out a really good 2013 Spring Science Fair project based on your amazing abilities.  I think I can win it if I can only figure out all the logistics.  The only problem is that my Mom says our health insurance won't cover it so she won't sign the permission slip.  She said that I should figure out a project that involved baking soda, white vinegar and abstinence but none of those things sounded like much fun.

Since we're talking about this (okay, Todd Akin, I know we're not really talking but I do believe that you read all my letters) there are a few things that I have questions about.

What's with the whole it's okay for victims of rape or incest thing?  Now I know that you said that if it was really rape, a girl wouldn't get pregnant but I'm still confused.  Doesn't being pro-choice actually already cover the women who are raped either by a stranger or a family member?  And now that I think about it, isn't a woman who chooses not to have an abortion also covered by being pro-choice.  Now that I think about it even more, doesn't being pro-choice protect everyone's personal decisions.  Remember that girl that I told you about in my last letter?  The one with the big boobs who went behind the A&P and made out with my friend's brother and his friend Moose?  Isn't she also covered by being pro-choice.  I'm starting to think that what the people who want to say that certain pregnancies are okay and others are not are really saying that women who have healthy sex lives are really just sluts.  My aunt told me sex is a really nice thing but my Mom told me not to listen to her because it's not covered on our health insurance.

I'm also confused by the whole "legitimate" thing.  I read in the paper that you said that you didn't mean to say "legitimate rape" you meant to say "forcible rape".  Last year my English teacher spent a whole semester (snore) on good grammar so I know what the word redundant means.  She tried tripping us all up with a pop quiz but I got all of the redundancy questions right.    I also got all the oxymorons right (jumbo shrimp--hahaha). 

I have one last question and it's kind of a different topic.  I heard on the news that everyone's really worried that a hurricane is going to hit the Republican Convention.  And all the newscasters said that this would be really really terrible.  One guy even said that it was the worst thing that could happen.  Now we learned about primaries and all those political things in Social Studies class (my Mom says that polite people don't talk about politics) but since the only real candidate that you've put forward is Mitt Romney why are you all even bothering to have a convention.  It sounds like a really expensive really big party to me.  Don't get me wrong, I really like a big party.  My Mom has promised that she'll get a six foot wedge for my Sweet Sixteen and we can make onion dip from scratch (I never even knew you could do that :)

If a hurricane is coming, can't you all just stay home.  I heard that Chris Christie is going to speak but he's from New Jersey so he can just stay home and go out for coffee with Theresa from the Real Housewives (my Mom doesn't know I watch it so let's keep that between you and me).   Or maybe you could all go to Florida and help all the people who live there put masking tape on their windows so they don't get cut if their windows blow out.

Thanks for reading my letter, Todd Akin.  And please let me get my period really really soon.  I don't want to be the last girl in my class who has a bunch of stupid white men trying to stuff their boots up my snatch.


Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Really? A month?

I can't believe that it has been over a month since I last posted.  It's surprising--if I'm talking, you can barely get me to shut up.  And here, in blogville, you would think I would ramble on and on with glee.  Not sure what my problem is because I certainly have plenty to ramble about.

I'm at work right now trying to avoid obsessive compulsively hitting refresh while I wait for a file to finish processing so I can't write a whole post now but I will leave you with the two questions that have been really bothering me:

1.   What kind of good excuse can I come up with for not blogging?
2.   Where the hell was Elton John at the Olympics?

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Happy Inter-dependence Day

Last year I declared July 5th Inter-Dependence Day and I am plan to celebrate like crazy today.  Because inter-dependence has been very good to me this year.  Just the other day, I was in the A&P and the woman on line in front of me didn't have her bonus card with her.  I offered her mine and she was very grateful because she saved a bunch of dough.  I told her not to worry about it because Inter-Dependence Day was coming up and that she should celebrate it too.

Then it was my turn and, naturally, I used my card.  When my receipt came up, lo and behold, I had enough points to earn a 5% discount.  The woman working the check out stopped for a minute and really looked at my receipt.  Then she said, "That's pretty cool.  If you hadn't given that woman your card, you wouldn't have earned enough points and today's the last day for it." Then she told me to have a Happy Inter-Dependence Day. 

Ta Da!!!  The beautiful balance of inter-dependence.

So, what are you going to do to celebrate today.  I have a list of a few ideas for you but I'm sure you will all run with it!  Check in on the comments if you want to share how it worked out for you.

1.  Wave to that mentally disabled man who always stands on the corner.  I bet you he'll wave back and you'll both feel really good.
2.  Pick up some litter.  We are inter-dependent with nature too.
3.  Go to the dollar store and buy some cheapo umbrellas.  Leave them in the car and the next time you see someone stuck at the bus stop in the rain without one, pull over and give them one.
4.  Say hello to a stranger in the grocery store.
5.  Bake some cookies for the guys who make your coffee every morning.
6.  Make love to your partner.
7.  Give your dog a bone or your cat some tuna.
8.  Ask a little kid if they know any knock knock jokes.
9.  Learn how to say "how are you" in another language.

You get the drift.

Is it risky?  Sure it is.  People might look at you like you're a wack job.  But so what? There are a lot of wack jobs out there doing a really effective job at making our world a worse place.  Maybe it will take a few wack jobs to make it a better place.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

My Old Man

My old man is funny.  He's been telling the same jokes for years and they still make me laugh.  One of his favorite things in the world is those special Daddy/Daughter moments when he sets up a joke and I drive it home.  Especially if it's a dirty joke.

My old man loves Mel Brooks and Monty Python.  I was raised on Young Frankenstein and still remember the very first time I watched "The Holy Grail."  We were sitting in our den so I must have been less than nine years old because when I turned nine, my parents turned the den into my bedroom.  It was a Sunday afternoon and Channel 13 was showing it.  My mother came in and said "John, do you really think this is an appropriate movie for her to watch?"  His reply was, "She doesn't know what a medieval whore house is but she still thinks it's funny."  My mom shrugged her shoulders and left us alone.

When we were kids, my old man would pack up a bunch of kids from our block in the station wagon (in our pajamas) and take us to either Carvel or Friendly's for ice cream.  Once, the boy down the hall and my dad hatched a plan.  Michael pretended that he had fainted and my father carried him in and laid him on the couch.  Then we revived him with ice cream.  I thought it was hilarious.

My old man can walk into an empty kitchen and come out with a delicious meal.  He's the person who taught me how to read cookbooks like novels and the true joy of an onion.  He has an adventurous palate and can talk about almost any meal he's ever had. 

My old man knows everyone.  I can't tell you how many times in how many random situations someone has said to me "You must be John Tumelty's daughter."

My old man likes all kinds of music and he likes it loud.  And I mean loud.  He used to play opera on Sunday afternoons and people would set up lawn chairs across the street from our apartment to listen.

My old man is not interested in getting presents but when you find the perfect gift for him, he cherishes it like a child.

My old man rarely swears.  But when he does, you know he means it.  He has a way of calling someone a "silly bitch" that sounds like the worst possible thing you could ever say about anyone.  Clearly, my filthy mouth is from my mitochondrial  DNA.

My old man can quiet a crying baby.  He loves babies and will hold and snuggle them for hours.

I have never seen my old man wear a t-shirt.  Or sneakers.

My old man checks all the sale fliers every week and then calls me to tell me where Diet Coke has the best price.

The first time my old man met Brian he said "Hello Kevin, it's nice to meet you."  The two of them will sit and talk for hours and it makes my heart warm.  When Brian went back to work this week, my old man called him at lunch time on his first day to see how it was going.

My old man has a nomad's spirit.  He loves to just get in the car and go.  Which made for some adventurous vacations in my life.  Except the time that we went to Suwanee Florida.  He told us he had seen it in National Geographic but he failed to mention that the article was about the huge bugs that walk around the town.

My old man will come get me anywhere anytime.  He drove me to concerts, he picked me up at school and he didn't complain the third time my alternator crapped out and he had to come drive me home.

When I was in college, my old man used to randomly drive out on Mondays (his day off) and take me to the Lobster Inn for dinner.

My old man is still desperately in love with my mother.  He dances with her at weddings and parties and still can't keep his hands to himself.  (There's a family story about the time my mother said he had "roaming hands" and I thought she said "Roman Ants" but that's for another time.)

I can still borrow $20 from my old man.  He acts like he is doing it begrudgingly but I know he likes it.

I like to think that I am like my my old man but really, if I was half the person he is, I would be satisfied.


Saturday, June 9, 2012

Catch Up

I'm not going to whine about being ridiculously busy lately.  I swear!  I'm not.  I'll save that for another post. 

This morning I am determined to get caught up on a few things and one of those is cleaning out the camera.  Of course, there are a load of photos that were meant to go on blog posts that I haven't gotten to yet so let's just do a little photo album today, shall we?

This is why it's always a good idea to bring your knitting with you.  Yeah dammit, the alternator crapped out on me three times.  Three times!!!!!  It's been working for a few months now but I'm still cautious.

This is the kind of winter we had.  Forsythia blooming in the dead of winter.  Amazingly, they recovered and were positively gorgeous this spring. It was pretty amazing flower-wise on our block this spring and all the flowers lasted for a long time which was pretty cool.  The past few years they've had a pretty small window.  The roses in the neighborhood are blooming now and it looks like they plan to keep the trend going.

I have very spicy neighbors.  They brought this back for us from their travels.  Rockin!

It's fun to play with dry ice.  'Nuff said.

The first robin of spring.  Also, 'nuff said.

I'm in charge of lining up the St. Patrick's Day parade here in the Y.O.  so naturally, I wear the obligatory green carnation (with baby's breath, thankyouverymuch).  For some reason, it ends up in my purse every year and a few weeks later I find this.  I usually find it because I'm bleeding from getting stuck by the pin that I forgot was there.

Gift yarn!  Gorgeous!

Gift yarn!  Also, gorgeous!

I finally went and got an eye exam and some new contacts.  This totally cracked me up.  You see, I wear the same lens in both eyes.  So I only need to buy one box of lenses at a time.  Which is awesome.  They had to order them for me so the eye doctor gave me a set of lenses to use until mine arrived.  Please note that not only are they the same lens, they are still attached to each other.  And he still wrote R and L on the labels as if it made a difference.

I love it when I get flowers.  Just love it.  I positively swoon.  These came at the end of a really, really lousy day.  When my sweetie picked me up at work I was met with these along with a tupperware full of chardonnay.  He knows me so well.

Friday, May 25, 2012

I Miss You Robin

My sister believes that the world can be broken--very simply--into two groups of people.  Those who like The BeeGees and those who like The Carpenters.  You know what?  That's the kind of religion I can get behind.  No one ever strapped a bomb to their chest and blew up a school bus because someone else didn't know all the words to Superstar.  

Oh and by the way, whether you're a BeeGee or a Carpenter fan, I will call you a liar if you say you don't know all the words to Superstar.

God speed Robin Gibb.  You seemed like a nice guy.

Monday, May 7, 2012


I haven't had time to write--again!

The camera is missing--again!

The cat is in heat--again!

I have a Baby Surprise Sweater on the needles--again!

I bought too much yarn--again!

I lost my debit/credit card--again!

At least I'm predictable.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Too Long

I've been gone too long and I missed my silly little blog and all six of my readers (okay, maybe seven--at least you are loyal).

So let's just go with today.

It's Titanic Day.  Not sure where to go with that but I would like to think that I am the reincarnation of the first guy who yelled ICEBURG.  I do try very hard to be a problem solver but, I've discovered that noticing the problem (or shall we way iceburg) does not always mean that you can stop the boat from slamming into it.


There will be photos of two really cute baby sweaters.  For twins!!!  Twins!!  I love twins.

Remember this yarn from China

Well it knits up some kind of gorgeous and a little roll in a front load washing machine gave it just enough fullness to make me swoon.  It's drying in the bedroom right now and waiting for buttons so pictures will have to come another day.  There will be pearls and little bunnies.  Too cute.

In other news, we have had a lovely weekend which has climaxed with a really yummy dinner.

Are you ready?

This is one of those recipes where you really, really have to trust yourself.  It's a little spicy but not crazy hot and I think you'll like it.

First, cut up four russet potatoes into 1 inch (ish) chunks.  Toss them on a sheet pan with lots of salt and pepper.  Drizzle with olive oil, toss them around and pop them in a 425 oven for about an hour.  Halfway through, flip them over as best you can.

I came up with the rest when I was standing in Foodtown staring at the meat case trying to figure out what to make for dinner.  I ran into a guy I went to grade school with (he was buying bananas) and he said "Just stand there until something comes to you."

He was right.

So here we go (I really should have taken pictures because this is a sort of vague recipe).

4 links sweet Italian sausage
4 boneless skinless chicken thighs (if the store doesn't have them get your lazy ass off the couch and bone and skin them yourself) cut into chunks
2 cubanelle peppers
a bunch of cloves of garlic
1/2 a jar of sliced hot cherry peppers
some chicken broth
some white wine

Drizzle a little olive oil in your big skillet, poke the sausages with a fork and let them get some color on them.  Take them out of the pan as soon as they are starting to get brown (they will still be raw).  Slice the cubanelles long ways (take out the seeds) and toss them in the pan.  If you need more oil, feel free to add more oil.  Run as much garlic as you like through the garlic press and add it to the pan.

While this is cooking away, slice the somewhat raw sausage into coins and cut your chicken in cubes.

When it feels right, put the sausage in the pan.  As soon as it starts to brown, add the chicken.   Keep the heat sort of low at this point.

Now, I know it seems like you are wasting wine but it is worth it.  Once around the pan with a bottle of dry white wine and then once around the pan (maybe twice) with some chicken broth).  Bring it to a boil and let it simmer until the chicken is just about done.

Use a fork to add half the cherry peppers to the pan, then pour in some of the hot brine that they came in.  Let it simmer until everything is done and the potatoes are ridiculously crisp on the outside and creamy on the inside.

It's a party for your mouth and a perfect meal to listen to American Roots with.

P.S.  It's Joey Ramone day.  Can't belief it was that long ago.


Thursday, March 29, 2012

If I Win The Lottery

I realized tonight that if  I win the lottery tomorrow night (which I am sure will happen) my federal government and my state government will make a lot of un-budgeted tax income.  The jackpot is based on how many people play the lottery so there's no way any government agency could budget for it.

That means that, basically, the tax income to the state and federal government is free money.  And, if I win, I would really love to have a say in where those taxes go. 

So here's what I want.  I want my tax money from my lottery windfall to pay for a fund that provides supplemental income to the working poor to bring their wages up to a living wage.  Right now, in Westchester County, the living wage is $11.45 per hour.  Anyone who makes less than that could apply for a weekly supplement.  I would have some requirements about the business (for example, you would have to work for a business that couldn't afford to pay a living wage) so that this would be both a benefit to the employee and to businesses.

I know that this isn't completely thought out but, off the top of my head, it seems like an interesting idea.

If you win the lottery, what do you want to have happen with the tax money that you pay?

Wednesday, March 28, 2012


Dear Blog Readers:

Five years ago tonight, I met a man who I fell in love with.  If you are a reader you know that he died.  I guess, if you are not a reader and just landed here tonight, now you know too.

When he died, there was no obituary.  There was no eulogy at his funeral.  Our relationship was tumultuous.  There was plenty of pain and drama but I stayed for a long time becuase I was in love. 

So tonight, I don't need to think about the shitty times.  I just want to cherish the good times.

And I think he deserves a eulogy.  It may or may not be a good one but it's the best I can do right now.

He was an animal whisperer.  He could soothe an animal just by talking to it.  I had a cat who went deaf and she was so scared by it that she hid in the linen closet for years.  He got her to come out and rejoin our household because he was kind to animals.

The man loved sports and he never ever made me feel stupid about it.   I think I've made it perfectly clear that I don't really understand sports and, frankly, I don't need to.  But he always welcomed me to watching games and he explained them to me in a way that made me feel included and, most importantly, not stupid.

He loved his family but just could never figure out how to show it.  He could talk about them for hours and hours and he was so delighted by them but he could never quite figure out how to tell them how much he cared.  And that broke http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6939947011112129152#editor/target=post;postID=890358876304572700his heart.

He loved to sing.

He loved to dance.

His favorite trip in his life was going to Ireland.

He really, really wanted to be happy but he could never figure out how.

He had his demons and they got the best of him. 

He broke my heart more times than I care to think about.

It was five years ago tonight that I met him and I just can't believe that he is gone.

Godspeed John.  I hope you're finally happy.

I've thought about this eulogy for a long time and I know that it is inadequate. 
There is so much that I can't articulate but I can say that I really, really hate the fact that there is one less person in the world who loves me. 

Saturday, March 24, 2012

The Hoodie

I was shocked today to read Geraldo Rivera saying that Trayvon Martin would be alive today if he weren't wearing a hoodie.

You see, I work with a guy who wears a hoodie.  And it is definitely a statement.  He is very slim.  He wears sunglasses that cover most of his face.  He has earphones in all the time and rather than walking, he grooves.  He is dark skinned.  And, I will fully admit that when I first met him, his look startled me.  Because he was definitely making a statement with it.  And I have learned that his statement--at least to me--was "I am who I am and if you're interested in finding out who I am, I'll be right here in my hoodie.  I'm easy to find." 

But I wasn't afraid of him. 

There are a lot of people in my life and the world that I live in who have distinctive looks--some more accessible than others.  I've actually met Johnny Rotten and, for real, the guy's whole persona is really aggressive.  In real life, he's lovely. I've never understood the whole idea of having really scary tattoos but, honestly, I have found that most of the people I've met with scary tattoos are pussycats.

So this whole "I was afraid of this guy because he was wearing a hoodie" thing just doesn't hold water with me.  It's as if the world is saying racism really doesn't have anything to do with race.  It's about fashion. 

So of course that got me thinking about the hoodie.  I went to Catholic school for 12 years so I spent a lot of time with people who covered their heads.  Wimple=Hoodie.  And I never shot a nun.

I grew up in a very Jewish neighborhood and I have a friend who is a very observant Jew (we'll be talking about the sweaters for her new twins soon).  She covers her head.  And I never shot her.

Baseball players cover their head with a cloth cap (yeah--I get it, it has a visor, but they usually have on sunglasses too so the visor is redundant.)   I've never shot them.

Covering your head is common.  Unless you're black.  And then, for some unfathomable reason, it is a huge threat.

Should I embrace the hoodie? No I probably won't.  Because it's not my look.  I can respect you without emulating you, thank you very much.   Should my friend from work who wears a hoodie suddenly start knitting just so that we can have something in common.  Of course not.  And by the way, I am much more intrigued by people who I have nothing in common with than those who mirror my life.

I don't get it.  I never will.  It blows my mind that in 2012 a young man can be shot for being black.  It also blows my mind that a woman's body is not her own.  It blows my mind that teachers are paid shit.  It blows my mind that there are so many things that blow my mind.

I don't fear young black men in hoodies.  What I really fear is what legacy we are leaving behind and what the history books will say about each and every one of us.

Friday, March 23, 2012

Spring Fever

This is what I was greeted with when I walked into work this morning.

Isn't she gorgeous? (For some reason flowering trees are always female to me.  In the fall when their colors change, they become male.)

I have terrible Spring Fever today so I'm trying to harness it with a Spring Cleaning.  Considering the fact that this year I am hoping to finish up the home spring cleaning from 1998, I'm not sure if this is such a good idea.  But I have been plugging away at my desk all day long and have actually gotten some things accomplished.

The last few weeks have been kind of crazy.  You know the kind of days when you're ready.  You've got a plan.  You know what you've got to get accomplished and you know just how long it is going to take.  Your ready to rock and roll and then someone drops a bomb.  And really, I don't mind that at all.  I'm not particularly anal about these kinds of things and I really can roll with the punches quite nicely.  Most of the time. 

But when they start to add up.  And the pile is getting bigger.  And you can't find a damn thing.  And the pile gets knocked over and is still on the floor the next day. 

Well then, you have to suck it up a bit and do some spring cleaning. 

The windows are open and  I have Pandora on (Elvis Costello station, thank you for asking) and I am slowly but surely getting through some of the piles (yes, I've moved into plural). 

The problem with this plan is the windows are open and  I have Pandora on (Elvis Costello station, thank you for asking) and I have the attention span of a gnat because it is so gorgeous out. 

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Baby Karma

Any time you get a group of knitters together for more than one glass of chardonnay, someone will bring up the age old topic "people who ask you to knit something for them but then are surprised at how much it will cost."   I am not a professional knitter and don't make my living doing this (would that I could) so I find the rules about knitting for others pretty simple.  If I love you, I will knit for you.  If I felt like hauling off and making you a present, it's a present.  If you asked for something specific that you really want, you pay for the yarn and then ply me with some nice chardonnay and we spend some quality time together to pay for my time.  Frankly, if I love you enough to knit for you, I love you enough to want to spend time with you so it works out pretty well.

And I love babies.  So I will knit anything for any baby anywhere any time.

Sometimes a friend will ask for a baby sweater. 

Like this one.

My lovely neighbor's friend is having a baby boy and you really can't go wrong with a creamy little raglan sleeved number with some nice tortoise shell-ish buttons for a little boy.  A bottle of Kendall Jackson Chardonnay was involved which escaped being photographed by dumping itself into my glass.

There's another kind of baby knitting that I also do that is even more fun for me.  It's secret and anonymous and I call it my Baby Karma knitting.

Like this one.

Yeah, it's the same pattern.  I use it all the time because it makes the world's best baby sweater.  Something about the way the arms fit.  Anyway, this is a Baby Karma sweater.  It was knit in secret and then wrapped in tissue and a bow and left anonymously at the pregnant families door.  Because every baby should start their life out with some act of kindness.   This baby won't remember it, won't ever wonder who knit it and probably won't care.  But his or her (in this case his) little spirit will have started out life with an act of warmth and protection.  And that makes me feel good.

I often say that there's enough misery in the world to go around and I don't need to be actively trying to add to it.  The other side of that coin is that there's never enough happiness in the world (really--who doesn't want more happiness) and I really really do need to actively be trying to add to it. 

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

The Other Side

Thank you all for your kindness.  Funny--I had actually made it through most of the day and was surprised at how calm I was.  Amazing how your emotions can sneak up on you.

Today I am fine.  I think because I am lucky enough to be surrounded by really interesting, kind, warm and inspiring people.

So here's the plan for the rest of the week.  Up early (very very early), lovely morning knitting (I'll post some pictures tomorrow), good things at work (although a few people are annoying the crap out of me this week), good food at home (my Brian takes good care of me) and (hopefully) getting the damn house clean.

My challenge to you this week--be happy.  Be intentionally happy.  Decide that you are going to be happy and do whatever it takes to do it.  Even if it is just for a minute or an hour.  Embrace it.  Because, you know what, if you know how to be happy, I believe that you will be better at being unhappy when the time comes. 

Monday, February 27, 2012


Today would have been his 45th birthday.  I truly believed that I would be okay but it didn't really work out for me.  About an hour ago, I started weeping and couldn't stop.

This was not supposed to happen.  It was not supposed to end this way.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Perfect Sunday Morning

Brian is sleeping on the couch.  Heather is sleeping on the love seat.  Smokey is sleeping on the couch pillow behind me.  Max is sleeping under Couch 22.

And I am playing with yarn. 

I've gotten a lot of gifts of yarn in the past few months and each one is better than the rest.  I've had them all out on my desk so I could play with them.  Sort of the equivalent of a little kid wanting to leave all the Legos out so she could build something anytime she wants to.  Although it really hurts to step on a random lego--not so much with a ball of yarn.

I'll show you some today and save some for other posts lest you all get greedy and try to sneak into my stash!

This pile of deliciousness was cleverly disguised in a Bloomingdales box on Christmas morning.

I know I've mentioned before that my parents are very good yarn shoppers but it turns out that my father takes it very very seriously.  When we arrived in VT for the Christmas celebrations I was wearing a sweater that I had FINALLY finished!  It's beautiful fuzzy Brown Sheep Lambs Pride bulky (I'll tell you about the sweater another time--it was a journey) and Pop started asking all sorts of questions--What kind of yarn do you use?  Umm--anything that's a natural fiber.  So the size doesn't matter?  Nope, not at all.  As long as it isn't fake.  And colors, what kind of colors?  All colors Pop. 

I didn't catch on that he was afraid he picked the wrong yarn until two days later.  He's so sweet.  And see what he picked.  The old man picked out Noro.  And not just one skein but two!  And that purple in the bottom corner--that's Malabrigo!  And then he pushed the envelope and picked out some sock yarn that I've never even heard of before.  Good times!

This lovely pile came from my neighbor Denis's trip to China.  He's the father of one of my childhood friends and he loves to travel (he's also brought my yarn from the market in Italy). 

The labels are all in Chines so I have no idea what this is or what the yardage is.  So far it has passed the wool test so I'm pretty sure that's what it is.  It is squeezy and delicious and I love it.  And one of the big balls is enough to make a Baby Surprise so, really, how wrong can you go.  There's more of it but it's already on the needles so you should be seeing more of this soon.

There's a lot more to come but I don't want you to start out your Sunday all jealous so I'll save those for next time.

Thursday, February 23, 2012

I Suppose An Explanation Is In Order

First things first.  About the Kenny Rogers video.  You see, we were at Maud's a few weeks ago and someone said something that triggered something in my brain but it totally misfired and I ended up having one of these conversations.

Me  "There's a song about a field."
Brian  "What are you talking about?"
Me  "A song--I know you know it--about a field.  With plants in it.  Come on help me out here."
Brian  "Okay sure.  A song."
Me  "It's a country song.  I think it's Kenny Rogers.  Yeah it's definitely Kenny Rogers.  Something about not be able to pick the crops.  Yeah yeah yeah."
Brian  "Oh yeah--I know that song.  What the hell is the name of it."
Our neighbor at the bar "It's a woman's name isn't it?"
Me and Brian "Yeah yeah yeah--a woman's name!!"
Our neighbor  "Ruby!!  It's Ruby!"
Me and Brian  "No, no, no!!  That's not it."
Me  "Ruby was the one that he didn't want to take her love to town."

And on and on until we finally sort of forgot about it until I shouted out "YOU PICKED A FINE TIME TO LEAVE ME LUCILLE" at the top of my lungs about an hour later. 

Of course now I had it stuck in my head for a few days so I decided that I needed to share the shame of it on my blog.  Or, I should correctly say, my other blog.  Feel free to visit but don't blame me when you get caught singing Sylvia's Mother on the 1 train. 

Somehow, I managed to post it to both blogs and you guys ended up with it.  Mea culpa.

Moving on.  

The blog has been dark and I am sorry for it.  It's not that I haven't wanted to write.  It's just that I couldn't.  The ex-boyfriend was my most loyal reader and his death is still oh so very surreal to me.  He visited the blog every day and I believe that it was his way of somehow keeping a connection with me.  I've been on an emotional roller coaster since January over this whole mess and, although my brain is very rational, my heart and my spirit have had a few bad instances of the "what-if"s.  Now I know that his problems were his own, etc. etc. but every so often my psyche takes off into some other place that is neither rational nor linear and I get stuck there for a bit. 

I've been reading Ann Leary a lot lately and last week she had a post asking her readers what was going on in their lives.  So I decided that it was going to be a really good idea to just dump all my issues in some strangers lap and hope that it would break things open and I would be back in the saddle again.  I wrote a response on her blog very carefully.  I chose my words well.  I really thought it through and, I think, said everything I needed to say to get my groove back on.  And I hit post.  And it got lost.  Gone. 

And in my head, I heard Denis Leary laughing at me, calling me a pussy and telling me to shut the fuck up with my whining and write about shit on my own damn blog (his words--not mine).

So I'm back.  There may be some whining and some wild irrationality but there's also been lots of good stuff to share. 

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Monday, January 23, 2012

There's A Reason

The blog has been dark for a few weeks now for a reason.  I've got lots of posts halfway done in my head but have been unable to write them without starting to cry.  My ex-boyfriend died.  He was my most loyal reader and the thought of coming here to write was very confusing for me.  I didn't write the blog for him and there were things on here that he didn't like along with many other things that he loved.  We still talked occasionally and I know that he checked daily to see if there was a new post up.  There are a lot of things that happened in the past few weeks that I want to write about these past few weeks but I'm not prepared to so instead, I will share with you something that he loved. 


1 nice sized brisket that will fit into your Dutch Oven
1 bag of onions
1 jar Heinz Chili Sauce
1 can of beer

Peel the onions and slice them into half moons until you can't stand peeling onions any more.  Walk away from them and then go back and peel and slice more of them.

Pack half the onions into the bottom of your Dutch Oven, nestle the brisket on top of it and then pack the rest of the onions on top.  Your brisket should be completely buried in onions.

Pour the bottle of chili sauce over the top.  Open the beer and swish a little around in the chili sauce bottle to get all the goodness out and then add the beer to the pot. 

You will want to stir it but don't even try.  Just leave it alone.  Put it over a high flame, bring it up to a boil and then turn it down as low as it will go, pop a lid on and simmer it for at least 3 hours until the brisket is done to your liking.  I like it a little bit shreddy but still sliceable.

Serve it over egg noodles or on a buttered kaiser roll with a bowl of the gravy for dipping.

I made it this weekend for the first time for Brian and he loved it.  I didn't get into the whole dead-ex-boyfriend's-favorite-meal thing with him although I know he would understand (the man is a rock).  I just wanted this meal to continue to be something special for someone other than me. 

P.S.  I may have blogged this recipe before but I don't really care about being redundant right now. 

Sunday, January 1, 2012

Dear 2012

Hello 2012 and welcome.  It's very nice to meet you.

First of all, let me thank you for kicking the year off with a rainy night.  I'm not sure if 2011 gave you some notes before you started but I really love a rainy night.  2012, if this is how you're going to roll, we'll get along just fine.

Now, here are some things that you need to know before we get too involved.

1.  I know that I already have enough yarn but if you could find it in your heart to have some really special things  in the marketplace at Vogue Knitting, it would be nice.

2.  In the beginning of 2011, I had to tell someone that "this is totally fucked and your job is to unfuck it!"  I would rather not have to use that sentence, as charming as it is, again.

3.  You may not have noticed yet because you are just a day old, but there's enough misery in the world already.  It would be great if you could do your best not to contribute more.  I'll help.  We all will.

4.  Could you please remind me to carry my camera more often.  And to keep it charged.  Regarding number three, there is is far more beauty in the world than misery and I would appreciate you doing your best to make even more (see number 1--you're already doing a great job--there's nothing prettier to me than a rainy night).  If you can help me out with the camera thing, I promise I will share everything beautiful that you give me.

5.  I wouldn't mind being given the opportunity to foster some more kitties.  We really enjoyed the two that we had in the house this year.  Bring 'em on!

I'm sure that this has already been a really long day for you, my new friend 2012, so I won't burden you with any more requests.  Lets just agree to do this whole thing together; I think we'll make a really good team.  I'm looking forward to getting to know you.


P.S.  Dear 2011--Thank you so much. You were a pleasure.  If you happen to run into 2004, please let it know that I've forgiven it for sucking ass.  xo